


Washable Tattoos

by romangold



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tickling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:56:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7358446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romangold/pseuds/romangold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mark never bought into the idea of liking someone else's marks on his skin. The concept of a soulmate being chosen for you irked him. Not only that, but there was no guarantee that you would spend the rest of your lives together, or even <i>like</i> each other. So if Mark decided to dislike Arin before even meeting him, he could say that he had a good reason.</p><p>Soulmate!AU where when you write something on your skin with pen/marker/etc, and it will show up on your soulmate's skin as well. Except you can <i>feel</i> it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Washable Tattoos

Mark promised himself right then and there that he was never getting married.

He scribbled angrily on his forearm with his dying black pen. Never.

Within this promise of never getting married included the following vows which he would follow forever: Never having children, never sharing pets, always living without a roommate, being happy as a loner.

And, of course, never meeting _that person_.

Mark scribbled over the last doodle on his arm, allowing his poor pen to die a noble and heroic death, clutched tight in the fingers of his right hand as the ink ran out. Mark sighed. That had been his favorite pen.

Another good reason not to get married. Soulmates ruined your favorite pens. Well, at least Mark had covered up the last-

A dark purple line formed on the man's right bicep, rounding out into a circle. Mark growled in frustration at the feeling. Who owned more than one pen? Mark barely had enough plates to eat off of in his own home.

That's what he got for having a lousy _artist_ for a soulmate.

He had to have another pen _somewhere_. Before this supposed soulmate drew anything else on him.

His desk! Desks had pens, right? Mark floundered around the wooden tabletop, throwing up books and papers. The only thing beneath all the clutter was a hardened stick of gum and the old earbuds Mark had forgotten to look for.

OK, not a problem. Desks had drawers, too. He looked at his right arm. The person's ink had smeared some, like a thin smatter of purple blood, but the little doodle was still underway.

The top right drawer was just more gum. The drawer beneath that had crumpled up stick-figure drawings, a waterbottle, and-

Finally! A pen. Mark clicked it open and pressed it to the skin of his left shoulder. Furiously, he began to write.

**_STOP DRAWING DICKS ON ME_ **

His soulmate (that asshole) finished their work before responding. A very phallic plum image sat on Mark's bicep, except this one looked too bright and methodical to scribble over, as if it had been christened the overlord of dick art. Mark growled. At the prompting of a familiar utensil-on-skin feeling, he looked down at the palm of his left hand.

_what, no sense of humor?_

**_just a tasteful one_ **

Mark was sure that his soulmate was shaking their head, but all inappropriate drawings were wiped off and replaced with more conversation.

_well_

_what would my soulmate like me to draw?_

The dark-haired man wrinkled his nose at the choice in words. Why didn't he get to choose his own soulmate? He didn't care much for this one. What kind of grown-up drew dicks on other people's arms?

Mark didn't even know all that much about his soulmate. He knew the person's name, and that they were a man who was Mark's age, and that he had a good sense of humor. As much as Mark hated to admit it, the guy was hilarious, and, seemingly, harmless. To top it all off, he was a gifted artist.

The only thing Mark didn't like was that he didn't get a say. The concept of a soulmate being chosen for you irked him. Not only that, but there was no guarantee that you would spend the rest of your lives together, or even _like_ each other. Mark's parents had written little messages back and forth to each other on their arms every day before and after they met, and yet they got divorced as if they had never shared a single blot of ink on their skin.

So if Mark decided to dislike his soulmate Arin before even meeting him, he could say that he had a good reason.

Honestly, though? His soulmate wasn't making it easy. He was talented, and cute as fuck, and very kind. And Mark couldn't help but respond every time.

**_a dragon. draw a dragon._ **

The feeling of a pen on his ribs had Mark rolling up his T-shirt to read Arin's response.

_your wish is my command ;)_

The press of the writing utensil transferred to his ankle, and the young man looked down to see a now black line of ink making its way up towards his knee. The sensation was maddening, but managable, so long as Arin didn't decide to go-

Mark let out a very manly squeak when the drawing continued on the back of his knee. He collapsed onto a sitting position on the floor, taking his pen and writing in a frenzy on his left arm.

**_ok that's enough stop!_ **

The p and exclamation point fizzled out into desperate scribbles, but at least it got his soulmate's attention.

_what?_

**_it's good like that you can stop now_ **

_dude i didn't even get to the wings yet!_

_wait...are you?_

**_I changed my mind! no dragon!_ **

There was a short pause in conversation. Mark started to count his blessings, wondering if he was lucky enough to get out of this embarrassing situation. He sighed when he figured he was free.

But this was the same grown-ass man who had just drawn six dicks on his arms, so, really, Mark should have figured better.

Arin went right on ahead with his drawing, but this time he was much more methodical, and much more detailed. The dark-haired man grabbed at the back of his left knee, as if that would somehow make the feeling go away, biting his lip as he blushed.

Mark hated himself for letting this happen. He shouldn't have assumed where his soulmate would draw a dragon. He thought it would have been another little doodle! And of course Mark had to have the world's most sensitive legs.

He managed to keep himself from laughing until Arin moved back down his calf to finish the outline.

**_you DICK_ **

_well that's not very nice_

_I'm just trying to draw you a dragon!_

Mark was about to reply with a very harsh pen until Arin's dragon made its way up again, past his knee and up to swirl over the back of his thigh.

A second squeal forced its way up and out of Mark, and a series of high-pitched giggles bubbled forth with reckless abandon. Dammit, his thighs were _awful_. There was no way he was gonna survive this.

Mark laughed out gasping pleads and copied them down on his left arm, dominant hand unsteady as his body shook.

**_stop please!_ **

_why dude? dragon's not done yet_

To reiterate: Mark was never getting married.

Wouldn't Arin be just delighted if he could just see what a mess he'd made of his soulmate. Mark didn't know what kind of dragon this was, but it continued to grow on his leg, wringing out laugh after laugh from the poor young man. Mark fell onto his side the moment the pen moved to settle on his inner thigh, left to press his head into the carpet, crinkle up his nose, and cackle loudly; he was too ticklish to even speak.

The raven-haired man fumbled with his pen, already curled into himself as if it would keep the pen from continuing. His right leg had been spared (so far), so he took to his ankle and tore out a final beg.

**_arin please I can't BREATHE_ **

It took a few seconds, but the feeling of pen-on-skin finally desisted. The wide grin that had split open Mark's face never went away, even as he breathed heavily, doing his best to regain what he had left of his dignity.

_you okay, dude?_

**_should be_ **

_bad spot? ;)_

**_the WORST_ **

_well then the last part I have to draw shouldn't be so bad!_

Where else could Arin _possibly_ have room to draw? He had scrawled all over the rest of their legs and rendered Mark utterly unable to wear shorts while outside in the scorching melting pot of LA. What, was there going to be a dragon on each leg, torn apart forever as starcrossed lovers?

Turned out, _that_ would have been preferable to what Arin _actually_ had in mind.

Mark let out an honest-to-God yell the minute he felt the pen on his foot. He grabbed at the carpet, rolling over and back again as a steady blush formed on his mirthful cheeks. Great peals of laughter ricocheted off the walls and bounced back to him, varying in pitch with each new spot Arin scribbled.

Mark was only just about to write a letter of bribes when Arin colored in the dragon underneath and between their toes. The pen fell to the floor as Mark screeched and his vision blurred with tears before the room was filled with his laughter once more.

And then, by some miracle, it stopped. The tortured man's lungs, worked overtime, let out hoarse breaths of air, in and out.

**_you. you are HORRIBLE._ **

_what's the matter? ticklish?_

If Mark had the ability to glare through his smile and heavy blush, he would have. He was beginning to think the grin forced over his lips was permanent; it sure felt that way.

And yet it _did_ feel nice to smile like this. Mark hadn't laughed so freely in... _years_ , most likely. Looking down at his poor sensitive legs, the young man didn't let the smile fall. The dragon that adorned his skin was intricate, powerful. _Good_. Arin's skill was obvious and remarkable.

Maybe Mark would take a walk around LA in his shorts before it washed off. And maybe...

Maybe he'd talk to Arin more often.

_that's done for now_

_time to color it in!_

Mark's hand snatched up the fallen pen.

He did say _maybe_.


End file.
